


Solidarity

by quittersneverwin



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Platonic smooches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:46:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quittersneverwin/pseuds/quittersneverwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras doesn't mean to be as cutting as he is but that doesn't stop Grantaire being upset. Still, Courfeyrac finds a way to cheer him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solidarity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hannah bc she wanted courf/R](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Hannah+bc+she+wanted+courf%2FR).



> basically my friend wanted courf/R platonic smooches so here they are

Enjolras could be harsh at the best of times. Although all his friends knew that he cared deeply for Grantaire, they also were aware that, he seemed determined not to show it for some reason. Due to this, one evening when Grantaire entered the little cafe where there meetings were held half asleep and drunk, Enjolras was the first to show his disapproval. 

“You know, Grantaire, sometimes I don’t know why you even bother coming to these meetings.” The blonde wasn’t even facing him, turning his back instead to clear up the mess of leaflets and posters that lay strewn around one the table. 

Grantaire sat up a little straighter - he always seemed more alive whenever Enjolras bothered to divert any attention towards his drunken ramblings - and smiled a little.

“Well, you see, it amuses me to watch you become so passionate about something so doomed to fail.” The smirk continued to play on his lips as the leader turned slowly to face him, his face dark. 

“Why are you here? You don’t have any beliefs. You clearly support our cause and yet you refuse to become invested in it. Grantaire, please, just go home.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Courfeyrac had been forced into missing the meeting that week. He had caught some sort of cold which Jehan claimed was man flu and Joly claimed was malaria - and he was lying on the sofa, watching a fascinating documentary about a child who was born with the ability to breath through his ears. The television droned monotonously as Courfeyrac slowly drifted into a daze.

He was awoken by the front door crashing shut and the sound of someone running up the stairs. At first, he thought nothing of it but, soon, since the walls were rather thin, he could hear harsh sobs echoing around the house. Bewildered and intrigued, Courfeyrac crept up the stairs to investigate. Much to his surprise, the person in distress was Grantaire. He lay, face down on his bed, shoulders shaking in time with the bitter noises ripping from his throat.

Courfeyrac was unsure how to respond. To his knowledge, Grantaire was sober and, besides, drunk or not, he has never seen him this upset. Not being one to be perturbed, however, he raised his hand and pushed the door further open. He crossed the small messy room, littered with paint and poetry (a clear sign that Jehan frequented this room as much as he did his own) and perched on the edge of the bed. Being as comforting as he could, he patted Grantaire’s shoulder. The sobs had been reduced to whimpers as soon as the artist had realised that there was another person in the room. 

“Hey, R, you ok there, buddy?” Courfeyrac’s voice sounded certain; he was out of his depth. Usually, he would cope by telling a joke and trying to get the group smiling again but this wasn’t a group, it was Grantaire and he was clearly not in the mood for jokes. The drunk raised his head from the pillow and turned his face to his friend. He appeared to be smiling bitterly. Courfeyrac realised that it was obviously clear that he was not ‘ok’.

Grantaire rolled onto his back, leaning against Courfeyrac’s knees. “Enjolras can be a right bastard sometimes, you know?” He was chuckling but there was something darker underneath his tone. Courfeyrac realised that the two must have had another one of their fights. They really could be spectacular sometimes, with the two parties getting gradually more and more frustrated until one or the other would storm out. Despite this - while it was common knowledge what Grantaire felt for the leader - it was clear that, however unsubtle his friends got, Enjolras still hadn’t twigged the real reason behind the artist’s visits to the cafe. 

Still at a loss as how to deal with this weeping mass of cynical humour - Jehan was far better at this whole thing than anyone else - Courfeyrac let his hand rest on his friend’s shoulder in what he like to think was a comforting manner. 

Thankfully, the waterworks gradually subsided and the two men found themselves on the sofa, sharing a blanket and a tub of ice cream, watching reruns of an old 60’s drama. Casting the occasional look over at Grantaire to check he was alright, Courfeyrac could clearly see that he was not. After about an hour in which his friend got gradually worse, he scanned his mind as to what he should do. Suddenly, an idea sprang to mind, without thinking too much about what he was doing, Courfeyrac turned and, cautiously but firmly, planted a kiss on Grantaire’s lips. The man in question tastes faintly of whiskey and chocolate-chip ice cream and, in general the experience was pleasant but Courfeyrac suddenly had the idea that, if he lingered too long, the whole thing would be weirder than it already was. 

Pulling back, he was fairly pleased with himself to notice that Grantaire’s eyes had drifted shut. However, before long, his eyebrows pulled together and his eyes reopened.

“Would you mind explaining what the fuck that was?” He seemed angry but Courfeyrac remained calm. 

“That my friend was a ‘platonic smooch’.” Clearly Grantaire didn’t fully understand so he went on. “Jehan informed me of their existence. They are ‘a symbol of solidarity between two platonic friends’”. Jeez, he sounded like a dictionary. “Look, you are clearly not ok. I just needed a way to show you that I care. Besides, don’t act so affronted. You just got to kiss me and, trust me, that is not something anyone gets to do.” 

This seemed to reassure Grantaire but, as he turned back to the screen he murmured something that sounded suspiciously like “yeah but they do though.” Glad that his friend finally seemed to have cheered up Courfeyrac stretched out across his lap and let the afternoon pass at the slow rate of crappy daytime TV.

**Author's Note:**

> i havent had time to proofread so if there are any problems please let me know  
> xoxoxo


End file.
